“Do you know how much I paid for these fucking
steaks?” Alec complains, carefully pressing the raw meat against
Eliot's bashed up cheekbone. The bitching is supposed to distract him
from the fact that his hands are shaking badly, but it doesn't help
much. Today has been far too close, and he still feels nauseous when he
remembers the sound of the gun butt smacking into Eliot's face.

“I'll
buy you new ones”, Eliot slurs, reaching up with an unsteady hand,
softly patting Alec's fingers and the steak. The pain killers are
obviously working. A bit too well, actually, if the haiku Eliot starts
to quote not much later is any indication – in Japanese, no less.

Clearly Alec is not supposed to take anything Eliot says tonight too seriously.

Which
is why he is so surprised when he walks into his apartment four nights
later to find Eliot in his kitchen, sliding two big steaks onto a
platter full of croquettes and peas.

“Dude, what the hell?” Alec says. His mouth is already watering.

Eliot
puts a full sauce jug on the table and looks up. The left side of his
face is still swollen, bruises having turned yellow-green, but at least
he can talk properly again.

“Promised I'd buy you steaks, didn't I?” he grins.

“I thought you were just hallucinating”, Alec admits, and then adds: “You didn't have to actually cook them.”

“Knowing you, you would have put them in the microwave”,
Eliot says. “Would've been a shame to let you ruin two perfect steaks.”
He turns around and takes two plates out of the cupboard. “You hungry?“

Alec smiles, accepting the unspoken thank you with a nod, and then he sits down and digs in.

II.

“And how exactly are we supposed to get into the house?” Sophie asks skeptically, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Which is today”, Nate grins, rubbing his hands. “So we could just cancel the order and deliver the cake ourselves.“

“Yeah,
about that …” Alec says hesitantly, scanning the on-line order form
displayed on his laptop. “Problem is – they are expecting it this
afternoon. In exactly .... three hours and fifty-five minutes.”

“And
how are we supposed to come up with a three-tier heart shaped cream
cake in four hours?” Eliot huffs. “You can’t just buy those at the
supermarket.”

Four pairs of eyes turn to look at him expectantly, and he blinks, then throws his hands up in protest.

“Oh no. Hell, no”, he says, shaking his head firmly.

Alec looks at him in surprise. “Why not?” he asks. “I thought you liked to cook.”

Eliot glares. “Cook”, he growls. “I like to cook. Making a cake is baking. There’s a difference.” He turns away demonstratively. “I’m not a girl.”

Sophie puts her hands on her hips, no doubt about to start a speech about prejudice and gender stereotypes, but Nate is faster.

“Are you trying to tell me that you are too macho
to make a cake? Seriously? A cake that could save this whole operation?
A cake that could save a lot of innocent little girls?”

Eliot continues to glare.

“You can do it, right?” Parker asks suspiciously.

“Of
course I can do it“, Eliot snaps. “I just don't like it.” He hits the
table with a fist, making the coffee mugs jump dangerously high.
“Damnit“, he groans. “Alright. I need someone to go shopping for me.“

So
Alec goes out to buy eggs and butter and marzipan roses, and Eliot
turns the office's kitchen into a confectionary, grumbling and growling
like a particularly grouchy Christmas Elf.

And everything would be fine, but of course, like usual, things don’t go exactly as planned.

“Are
you telling me that you made me bake a cake that you don’t even need
anymore?” Alec doesn’t think he has ever seen Eliot so furious.

Nate,
at least, has the grace to look ashamed. “Uhm, yeah …” he says. “But
believe me when I say that we really appreciate your ... dedication.“

Eliot
looks like he’s ready to throw the cake, and Nate ducks out of the
room, no doubt afraid that Eliot might choose to throw a knife instead.

Eliot, to his credit, doesn't throw anything. Instead, he just
stares at the offensive cake, wringing a dish towel in his hands. If it
was a neck, it would have been broken several times by now.

Alec
eyes Eliot warily, and only when he's somewhat assured that he's not
going to explode any minute, he turns his eyes to the cake. He is not a
fan of Valentine's Day and a heart shaped cake would usually send him
running, but he knows a work of art when he sees it, and this cake
looks incredible. Alec is pretty sure that it's going to taste just as
good.

“Hey” he says, while he's already reaching for a fork. “You mind if I try it?“

Alec stares in disbelief. “Seriously? Are you telling me that you don't have Skype installed on your laptop?”

“Skype”, Eliot says slowly, raising a brow. He manages to look unnerved
and amused at the same time. “What do you need that for?”

Alec keeps staring. “Dude, you do know what instant messaging is?”

“Uhm.” Eliot lifts a hand to scratch his neck, showing off an awesome triceps in the process. “It's like e-mailing, right?“

Alec sighs. “Hell, how do you even keep in touch with people?“

Eliot shrugs. “I don't.“

“Riiight.”
Alec nods. “For a second, I actually forgot that you are the poster-boy
for anti-social behavior. But imagine – hypothetically speaking – that
you want to meet up with someone for dinner. You go on-line and check
if the other person is on-line too, and if they are, then you can make
plans.“

“Or I could just give them a call.”

Alec groans. “Tell me again why I agreed to teach you this stuff?“

Eliot smiles and reaches out to pat his shoulder. “Because you enjoy actually being better than me at something?“

Alec
ends up installing the program on Eliot's ancient laptop anyway – if
only because it's going to make the computer awfully slow, and Eliot
totally deserves that for being so negative. But he never expects Eliot
to actually use it - until two days later, while he's busy downloading Torchwood episodes, a new message pops up on his screen.

es1974:u want to meet up 2n8? pizza and game?

Alec
almost chokes on his pretzel, then a wide grin spreads across his face,
and he allows himself to pump his fist in the air before he replies.

He
knows where Eliot lives, even if he hasn't been at his place before. He
doesn't know what he expected, but he's sure it wasn't this cozy,
rustic country style apartment, with actual pictures on the wall
instead of krisses and katanas. And it certainly wasn't the smell of
oregano and fresh garlic wafting from the kitchen.

“When you
said pizza, I thought you meant ordering take-out”, Alec says, leaning
against the door frame, watching Eliot kneel down to take the baking
sheet out of the oven.

“Hell no!” he says hurriedly. He
doesn’t want Eliot to deny him the pizza because he involuntarily
insulted him. “But you know that I won’t put out unless there’s
dessert?”

Eliot smirks. “You like tiramisu?”

“If I like … holy shit”, Alec breathes. “Marry me.”

The smirk turns into a grin. “Maybe after the game.”

IV.

This
is what he gets for not sticking to Nate’s plan, Alec thinks. This is
what he gets for just barging in, not listening to Eliot’s increasingly
frantic orders to stay put. This is what he gets for flirting with
Parker these last days, with Eliot scowling on the sidelines, because
he thought he could just ignore this weird thing going on between them.
It’s what he gets for not eating his vegetables when he was a kid and
not going to church on Sundays and …

“Alec”, Eliot’s voice
filters through, coming from the left, where Eliot is handcuffed to the
other side of the radiator. “Hey, Alec. Hardison, come on, I need you
to focus.”

There’s a trace of panic in Eliot’s voice, and that
more than anything else gets Alec’s attention. He knows that Eliot
isn’t scared for himself – he’s been in much worse situations before,
and Alec has a feeling that Eliot isn’t very afraid of dying. No, Eliot
is afraid for Alec, which means that the situation is just as serious as he thinks it is.

“They’re going to kill us”, he breathes, trying to keep his teeth from shattering long enough to get the words out.

“They are not going to kill us”, Eliot growls.

“They broke your toes”, Alec reminds him, slightly hysterically.

“Yeah, and it hurts like a bitch”, Eliot says sharply, “which is exactly why I need you to snap out of this. We are not going to die, we are going to get out of this, but you need to pay attention.”

He’s
tugging on the metal cuffs that chain him to the wall. If they weren’t
about to die, Alec would make a joke about kinky sex.

“I’m hungry”, is what he says instead, in a voice that seems to belong to someone else, it’s so small.

Eliot
blinks. He stares at Alec with disbelief, and then his face softens and
he sighs. “I know”, he says, and his voice takes on a soothing tone.
“Okay? I know. You just need to help me, so that we can get out of
here. And then I’m going to cook you whatever you want, okay? Your
favorite – what’s your favorite?”

“Uhm ….” Alec actually has to
concentrate to answer the question. “Mexican …” he says hesitantly.
“Fajitas – with chicken, and guacamole and salsa sauce. And, oh, and
waffles, but with ice cream, not with syrup ….”

“Alright”,
Eliot nods seriously. “Alright, you’re gonna get fajitas, and
guacamole, and waffles, and chocolate ice cream, okay?” He takes a
breath. “And then, when you are finished, I’m going to drag you off
your chair and push you up against the fridge, and I'm going to suck
you off.”

Alec’s head whips around. He wonders if he’s already
hearing things, but Eliot stares at him with dark, intense eyes, so
maybe his ears are fine, after all.

“Yes”, Eliot continues,
voice husky and low. “I’m going to put your cock in my mouth, and suck
it until you're screaming, and then I'll put my fingers up your ass,
and you're going to come all over my face. Because I think I’ve waited
long enough, you know.” He smiles. “But first – first we have to get
out of here.“

Alec swallows. “What do you need me to do?”

V.

Alec
wakes to the smell of fresh orange juice and pancake batter. When he
shuffles into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and yawning, Eliot is at the
stove, flipping pancakes and frying bacon.

Alec didn't even know he had
bacon, much less oranges, but the wondrous multiplication of the food
in his fridge can't hold his attention for long, because Eliot is humming;
he's humming and cooking breakfast, his long hair tied back in a loose
ponytail, in a white tank top that reveals his incredible arms and
boxer briefs that don't do anything to hide a persistent morning
erection, and Alec can't do anything but stare.

Alec is sure
that Eliot knows he’s being watched, but he takes his time to turn
around. When he does, there’s a smile on his face.